“Give me, like, a rundown on her. What kind are we dealing with?”
“She’s kick-your-dick-up gorgeous, smart, sexy, sophisticated. Multilingual, rich, slick, and polished.” Eve pushed out of the chair to pace. “She’s a custom fit for him.”
“Bullpoopie.”
“You know what I me
an, Mavis. The image. She’s everything I’m not.” Eve threw up her hands. “She’s the anti-me.”
“That’s good. That’s completely mag.”
“Good? Mag? How?”
“Because if you two had solid common, it could be said—I wouldn’t, but it could be said—that Roarke hooked on you because you reminded him of her. That you were the type he went for. But, see, you’re not. He went for you, not for a type. I bet that burns her surgically shaped ass.”
“It…oh.” Eve dragged a hand through her hair. “I don’t get this female business. Or it takes me awhile. It would burn her ass that I’m the anti-her? That he didn’t keep looking for her, so to speak.”
“We have a winner.” Mavis slid the baby up over her shoulder and began to rub and pat Belle’s back. “Bet the bitch goes frothy at the mouth every time she thinks about it. Right, Belle-issimo?”
In answer, Belle burped firmly. “There’s my girl. That’s why she set up that vid.”
“Set up the vid?”
Mavis’s frog-green eyes popped. “Jesus, Dallas, you must be knotted up like last week’s hairdo if you missed that. I may have been out of the game a few years, but I know a con when it smacks my adorable, post-pregnancy ass. Did you look at it?”
“I got—I guess I got knotted up.”
“Hold on. I’m going to put Belle down. Get your wine. We’re going to view the evidence.”
She didn’t want to watch it again, but there was too much curiosity in her to refuse. In the living area, Mavis turned on the screen, hit the replay for previous programming, and cued up the piece from that morning.
“Now, watch like a cop instead of the injured wife.” Even as she said it, Mavis slid a comforting arm around Eve’s waist. “He’s looking down at her, yeah, because she’s talking to him, angling up at him. Making sure he’s looking at her while the camera rolls. Now catch it? The way she shifts so they’re both turned just enough for the camera to zoom onto both their faces. Then she even cheats hers out.”
“She what?”
“Cheats her face—turns it a little more, so the camera can catch that soulful expression she’s plastered on for it. Slick, but obvious if you pay attention. She’s playing you. Both of you.”
Mavis drew back. “Go kick her ass.”
“There’s a problem with that. If I kick her ass, it gives her weight.”
“Shit.” Mavis puffed out a breath. “It does.”
“Another problem is, he feels something for her. That already gives her weight. She knows it.”
“You’re on the other side of the scale, Dallas. Head to head, she doesn’t have a ice-fizzy’s chance in hell.”
“Maybe not. But she’s drawn all the blood so far. I’m bleeding, Mavis, and he doesn’t see it.”
“Go make him.” Even as Eve shook her head, Mavis walked over to get Eve’s coat. “Time to stop letting her run the game, Dallas. And FYI?” She shoved the coat into Eve’s hands. “Roarke called here about a half an hour before you showed up.”
“He did?”
“Real casual like. Asked about the baby, like that. I may not have seen it if I hadn’t been looking, because he’s just that good. But you’re not the only one bleeding tonight.”
15
ROARKE REACHED FOR THE ’LINK AGAIN, CURSED himself for a fool, then turned away from it. He wasn’t going to keep calling her, her friends, her haunts, hoping for a scrap.